


You're Turning Me Into Quite The Masochist

by Snow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow/pseuds/Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock," John says, trying very hard to keep the anger out of his voice.  "Did you tell your brother to ask me out?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Turning Me Into Quite The Masochist

**Author's Note:**

> For calicokat, who wanted Mycroft/John. Once I started thinking about it, _I_ wanted to reverse the usual Mycroft makes sure Sherlock and John get together.
> 
> Kindly betaed by happy-rea and sexybee. Remaining errors are my own.

"Look, I'm going to be late to work. Again," John mutters, trying desperately to find something, anything that he can eat for breakfast. Apparently when Sherlock decides he's hungry, and he's in between cases, he has a tendency to eat all the food they do have. At least, John is pretty sure that they had some fruit and certainly bread before he went to bed last night. There's always the chance that Sherlock used it in some experiment of his, but John would much rather believe that the man eats occasionally.

"Call Mycroft," is Sherlock's suggestion from his position on the couch.

John scowls at him. "Having your brother pull strings might help me keep my job, but it won't actually help my patients."

"Then ask him for additional funding while you're at it. Oh, and maybe he'll take you out to breakfast. He does so love to eat. Here, I'll send him a text for you."

"No, don't." John glances at his watch. He'll only be a little late if he leaves now. He can deal with the hunger until lunch. "I'll be back this evening."

"Give Mycroft my regards," Sherlock calls out as John makes his way down the steps. John doesn't bother trying to tell Sherlock again not to call Mycroft. John thought Sherlock hated his brother, but either circumstances changed recently or they were never as actually unpleasant as Sherlock liked to pretend they were.

* * *

The closest grocer is unexpectedly closed, and when John heads to the next one he's already fifteen minutes into his lunch break. His (new) card is rejected at the checkout and John, for some unexplained reason that he's sure has to do with Sherlock, doesn't have any cash in his wallet. With a sigh, John gives up on having lunch as well and heads back to see patients.

At three there's an insistent knock on his door. John is on a fifteen minute break before his next patient, but the person on the other side doesn't give him a chance to explain, choosing instead to push open the door.

John glances up, then just stares for a couple of seconds, unable to muster any sort of verbal response. "Mycroft?" he manages eventually.

"I brought you food," the other man explains.

"I didn't think taste-testers were in fashion anymore," John remarks, struggling for dry rather than surprised.

"They are, but you're not one of them." Mycroft seats himself in the chair in front of the desk before John has a chance to object. "I can say that I'm absolutely sure the food I'm about to give you isn't poisoned." Mycroft sets down the bag he's been holding. John peers at it suspiciously.

"It's also not going to explode," Mycroft promises, a hint of _something_ John can't define colouring his voice. So he hasn't forgotten that John was nearly blown up a week ago, he just chooses not to acknowledge it.

Mycroft is clearly going to refuse to say anything, or _leave_ until John does what he wants, so John peers into the bag and removes the contents. There's warm pita, cold hummus, some kind of warm chicken dish, and fresh strawberries. John's stomach growls at the smells.

Mycroft laughs. "Please, go ahead," he says.

Still glancing suspiciously at him, John reaches for the food.

"You really shouldn't let my brother run your life," Mycroft says once John's mouth is full. "You should also join me for dinner tomorrow night. I'll send a car to pick you up."

He's gone before John has a chance to explain that he has no reason to want to spend time with Mycroft.

* * *

"You're back," Sherlock says at the end of the day.

John limited himself to only half of the food supplies they need, and even so he's struggling to carry them all. "Of course I'm back," he replies. "I told you I would be."

Sherlock frowns. "That was before my brother asked you out on date."

John very carefully takes a deep breath and lets it out again. "Mycroft did not ask me out on a date."

"Oh?"

"No, he told me that apparently I'll be accompanying him to dinner tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Sherlock asks, then nods. "I suppose that's acceptable. No need to rush."

"Sherlock," John says, trying very hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "Did you tell your brother to ask me out?"

Sherlock frowns. "No."

The answer is less than reassuring, given that John _knows_ Sherlock has no compunctions about lying when it suits his purpose. Though it boggles his mind to figure out what suits Sherlock's mind about this situation. "Then why did he?"

Sherlock shrugs, but John doesn't stop staring at him. "Because I told him you were interested," he mutters eventually.

"You _what_?"

"He's a very attractive man," Sherlock says petulantly. "He's also very intelligent, and you're clearly not getting any elsewhere."

"Stop pimping your brother," John replies. "It's very weird."

"He also thinks you're "attractive" and "surprisingly intriguing"."

John refuses to admit to himself that he's flushing. He also refuses to be at all flattered that such a powerful man as Mycroft has taken an interest in him. John doesn't have a problem with the fact that he's bisexual, but he also isn't attracted to sociopaths or their slightly more functional but much more powerful brothers. He just isn't. He's not a masochist. "Good to know all that observation he has on us gives him some useful information," John says eventually.

Sherlock just sighs.

* * *

John never had any intention on going on the date with Mycroft, but Sherlock starts playing his violin an hour ahead of time. John didn't know that anyone, no matter how good, or bad, could play for that amount of time and sound that awful and never even have to pause to replace a broken string. John supposes that getting into the car that Mycroft sends is just giving into Sherlock's plan, but at this point it's also very much the lesser of two evils.

Mycroft is in the car when it pulls up to the door, which makes sense once John thinks about it. This is, after all, a date. Those generally do require the presence of both people involved.

"You didn't have to dress up for me," Mycroft says by way of greeting.

John snorts. "Sherlock has managed to biologically contaminate the rest of my clothing. I didn't really want to ask with what." He fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt.

"Would you like me to arrange for something more comfortable to be brought to us?" Mycroft offers.

"No, that's fine." John makes an uncertain noise.

"Yes?" Mycroft asks.

John can't help being surprised at having social cues actually be followed. "I was just wondering where we were going." He thinks it likely that Mycroft could have told John the answer he wanted before John even raised the topic, but Mycroft's face doesn't betray any hint of boredom.

"Dinner and a movie?" It's clearly an offer, and one that, to John's surprise, Mycroft makes only tentatively.

"Sounds lovely." John has to remind himself that the only reason he's here is because Sherlock is a very manipulative flatmate.

* * *

John is fairly certain that dinner with Mycroft has ruined him for food. "I'm going to need to go on a diet myself after this single meal," he tells Mycroft over the hazelnut mousse on a chocolate tart that is dessert.

Mycroft frowns at him. "Not with the amount of running after Sherlock you do. A little relaxation will hardly hurt you."

John has no idea what to say to that. "You're concerned. I'm touched," will have to suffice. At some point John realises that the check he is waiting for isn't ever going to come. "What movie were you thinking?" John asks. He can't honestly imagine Mycroft at a movie at all, and it might be worth going along on the date just so he has that mental image to cling to. John tries to convince himself that it is a much better image to have caught in his head than the one he's gathered already of Mycroft licking the last of the mousse off the spoon.

"I picked the restaurant, you can choose the film," Mycroft says.

"Does that mean I can pay for the tickets as well?" John asks, and he doesn't know why he says that, why he doesn't just let Mycroft pay whatever he wants and then leave John to go home to his bed alone at night and try to forget this whole thing ever happened.

Mycroft looks embarrassed. "They might be a little out of your price range. Now, which film was it you were interested in?"

John chooses a romantic comedy because he thinks it will be hilarious to watch Mycroft watch it. It is: the way Mycroft's nose wrinkles in distaste is...amusing. It's not cute, or adorable or any of the _other_ traitorous words John's brain is trying to supply. Rather less hilarious is the way Mycroft appears to have rented out the whole theatre.

John is rather disconcerted by the direction in which his thoughts go after Mycroft muses aloud that, "This way we'll have our privacy."

Mycroft glances at John as if he knows exactly what John is thinking - and he probably does, and that should _not_ be hot - and smiles. John hates himself for how his breath does a very good impression of catching when Mycroft reaches a hand out towards John's cheek.

* * *

Sherlock is waiting up when John arrives back at the flat, still slightly flushed from the last kiss he shared with Mycroft in the car. Sherlock looks like nothing more than a pleased parent. "I'm glad it went well," Sherlock says.

For once John doesn't feel any need to ask how Sherlock knows that. He's all too aware of how many signs there must be. "Why?" he asks instead.

Sherlock lifts an eyebrow. He's going to force John to explain, then.

"Why are you trying to set me up with your brother? Is it for the shock factor to your parents at Christmas dinner?" As soon as finished speaking, John wishes he could take the words back. He's been desperately trying to convince himself that he's just going along for the amusement factor. He's certainly not getting involved in a _relationship_ with Mycroft.

Sherlock grins. He clearly thinks that since he's won he doesn't have to answer John's question.

* * *

The next date goes well, and ends with Mycroft pushing himself closer to John and sending them into a bathroom that John hadn't even noticed as being there. Mycroft has his hand down John's pants before John catches his breath again.

John uses the few functioning brain cells he has at the moment to wonder whether he should be objecting. He decides that the answer is definitely no.

He only regrets it a little later. The rest of him is too busy wondering - not fantasizing, John doesn't _do_ that - about next time.

* * *

John frowns at his mobile, then back at the note Mrs. Hudson had left for him when he'd gone by to drop off his rent for the next month. He can't really put off the phone call, as much as he wants to.

Mycroft picks up on the first ring. "You called me." He sounds delighted.

"We have some things to discuss."

"Oh. I was hoping it was for phone sex."

"No." It is very hard not to think about phone sex now that Mycroft's brought it up, but the whole idea is ridiculous. John can't picture Mycroft sitting in front of any one of his generic-looking desks in his generic-looking office, his feet propped up on his desk as he speaks lazily into the phone with John. He can, however, picture Mycroft dealing with vital e-mails and whatever else he actually does in the interest of running the government while talking on the phone with John, becoming more and more aroused but not ever letting it show in his voice or in his work. John refuses to picture it, though, because he has personal lines to draw.

"It's not too late to change the planned topic." John tries to focus on the fact that Mycroft has to have been waiting for John to start to get his thoughts back in order, rather than on the actual offer.

"You paid the rent on my flat."

Mycroft is quick with the response. "I pay Sherlock's rent."

"Yes, but he's both your brother and, well, _Sherlock_. I wouldn't be surprised if it's simply a matter of not trusting him to pay the rent himself."

"To be fair, your portion of the rent on your flat is significantly less than our last date cost."

"I've been trying not to think about that," John mutters. "I'm not going to be kept by you."

"Or even just be slightly more available and not exhausted by work for me?"

"No. I'm _helping_ people, there."

"You're not doing anything that someone else wouldn't be able to do just as well there."

John snorts. "Is this where you tell me that I'm the only one who can help you?"

"I don't need to, you just said it yourself."

"I'm not quitting my job for you."

"At least let me find you a better one?" Mycroft asks. "Something you're less overqualified for, which will mean you can do more good. Or something that uses your security clearance."

"I have a security clearance?"

"Of course." Mycroft is clearly ready to get off the phone now, and John hangs up before he finds himself accidentally agreeing to the earlier offer of phone sex. He'll be seeing Mycroft this evening anyway.

John can't pretend to be anything less than delighted at the prospect.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome and appreciate comments, including constructive criticism.


End file.
